A Whole Lotta Going On for a Monday

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“Mondays are the busiest days of the week, or at least, that’s how they seem to be” Gun Roswell

A Whole Lotta Going On for a Monday

There are reflections, in the background mirror
But, as the picture is getting somewhat clearer
Still, nothing too defined, is really popping up
But, as I squint my eyes, trying so hard to figure this out
I think I see, some balloons in the air free, a bbq maybe, is it a party of sorts?
Or then maybe, it’s just the liquor consumed for lunch, I snort
As the image is still, somewhat of a distort
The lunch and the (one) drink, sure did kick a punch, not as I had originally thought to be fair
And now, it’s making me see things, which really are not there
A party in progress! Yeah right! If so, maybe I can crash?
And make this mundane of a Monday, a tad more of a dash?
But what ever it is, that over there exist
For this Monday, that was supposed to be the usual boring prick
There’s surely a whole lotta going on
(Even think I head some kind of a bang of a gong)

Sunday Blues in blue

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“Sunday is always spent in the mood of blue, whether it be the colour of the clothing, the colour of the ocean or the colour of the sea, it’s all so clear, you see?“ Gun Roswell

Sunday Blues in blue

The Sunday noon sun shine, hit high in the above blue skies
Almost as high as did the cool blue waves of the otherwise calm ocean fly
But for the one, now dressed up in all blue, just for the sake of pun
The blue was more than just a dress code, or the blue bird over flown

Sunday was always the day of feeling bringing on the one specific colour
It even had that special and all so familiar odour
The one with hint of sadness, maybe even a touch of madness
But mostly, it was a reminder of an ending, even, whilst leisurely time spending

Despite all the moods, hitting mostly, towards the blues
Sunday was and always will be, the time of reflection of all the dues
And maybe, even some of the don’ts, but mostly hopes
That the new week will bring forth, something much more worth
Than a simple afternoon spent wallowing, in the total blues

Note to self

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“Today, is just like any other day, except, I am one more year older. They say, it’s just a number, but for me, it feels like today, it’s carried to the umpteenth, so yeah, I am feeling, so old!” Gun Roswell 

Note to self

When I woke up this morning, and could not stop yawning
I knew it must have been, a psychological scheme
Because today, wasn’t like any other day
Because today, I woke up with another digit added to my age

I know some say, that age, is just a number anyway
But for me, on this day, it feels, like something of the be afraid
Like a heave stone on my chest, not letting me rest
Rather a suffocating force, leaving nothing behind but torture

Alright, to this much I admit, that i might have been feeling sick
And not the measurable coughing, snot running kind of glitch
But, the more I started to run back in time
I could clearly feel the very hit of my last chime

So, I am not really, that old, but to be perfectly bold
I feel the life flashing before my very eyes and I am not sold
To be honest, I thought I would have put so many things to rest
And by now, I would at least, own that perfect crown

And then, after pouring all them things on to paper
I realize, that even if i might be a self proclaimed hater
I am feeling kind of fine in the very same skin i occupy 
Even if I am not the perfect person, which I never deny

So what if all the achievements pegged for myself
Would be only realised at some other or later date
So what if I wasn’t the person I thought I ought to be
On this very day I turned a specific number for everyone to see

I may have spent so many years planning and waiting
The time gone by, some of it totally wasted
But I know there are plenty more ahead of me, waiting to see
What great things, I am able to finally achieve

Consider this little ditty
A note to self, even if shitty
No one is ever too old or ever to late
To do what ever things they put on their plate!

So, in the words of another mortal beauty:
Good god, girl, get a grip
Get your head out of that space of shit
And by the way, happy birthday!

Seat and the Shade

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“There is always room for one more, on this very seat, the seat, in the total shade” Gun Roswell 

Seat and the Shade

The midday, right in the middle, of the month of May
It might even be June or July, alas, the month is not the why
But rather, the shining of the sun and the glaring of the sea
And where, in the scorching heat, is safest to flee
Is it diving, into the water or maybe hiding, under a tree?
Or take cover in the cooling air-conditioned shop you see?
But what if you need to buy something
Even a the smallest thing, but forgot to bring
Your purse or any kind of method of payment?
Then no, you cannot enter the establishment
Because the option of loitering means banishment

Then, out there, in the far corner of the eye
There is something so familiar, your eyes spy
The contours of some kind of a furniture
No!, Could it? Is it? And right there, in the shade?
No, it simply cannot be true, what I see
A bench, a solemn respite, in the shadows, under a tree
I run as humanly possible in this heat
And as I reach it, i can clearly see it
Yes, it is the one simple saviour I have search
In this hour of afternoon sweat and cursed
But now, I simply forget it everything else
As I slump down on this heavenly seat
And boy, am I beat! I think, I might get some sleep!

Under the sun, but, under the parasol

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“There is just something so fun, laying, under the bright sun, but only, if I have my parasol, where I lay down without being too dull!” Gun Roswell

Under the sun, but, under the parasol 

The sun is shining, so brightly, against the blue of the sky
Nothing or no other experience in life, makes me really, smile
As does this meteorological phenomena do, to little ol’ moi
When I have made the trek to the beach, for the day encore en foi 
But this is not just about throwing some French around
But rather,  to enjoy a day, resting, even if lying, on the ground
A day at the beach, in theory at least, is a plan totally sound
But if the heat gets a tad too much to resist, and groaning out loud
Becomes the permanently made, teeth grinding non-vowels
Then it is that time, when the parasol comes to play
Quickly setting up the plastic colourful monstrosity to full display
Never mind the outlook, it’s fine because I myself won’t look
At the contraption, now above my very large head, slightly shook
Because, I will be happy on this one day of summer no matter what
Even with all them flies and other types, I away have to swat
This one single day I have earned with much work and sweat
So I will be damned if the heat or what ever other problem might me let
Feel less of fun, or any other type of good feeling 
As I lay here, watching the day, pass me by, leading
Towards the hopefully calm and setting sun for the evening
When I will leave this place, with a smile on my face

Until next year, when I get one day off and to the beach, once again trot
With my parasol naturally, so I can enjoy, the sun, fully!

Wordless Wednesday (with a few words)

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Sailing, into the blue, to cure, all, of my blues, failing, now continued, in the blue, it is eternal, for us, chosen few.

Bus stop and a Cafe

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“Mondays without colour, what a drag!” Gun Roswell

Bus stop and a Cafe

In thIn the middle of drizzling rain
A coffee cup, left a small stain
On the table of a minimalistic cafe
In the middle of a heavy street traffic
An unusual place for a respite
Almost on the tracks of a tram to sit
But the colourfully painted frame
And the comfortable seats, can take the blame
Of wanting to take a break
A few moments the city’s dust to shake
Before continuing exploration
In this small town Scandinavian

Sunday, You Are Always On My Mind

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“Sunday is so much better than Monday” Gun Roswell

Sunday, You Are Always On My Mind

Why, is Sunday

Always on my mind?

When the working week starts

And Monday feelings smart

I have Sunday on my mind

If Tuesday brings some fun

Until Wednesday things get done

But enter Thursday

A total loose day

And again,

I have Sunday on my mind

Finally Friday arrives

My face all in smiles

Feelings of Sunday on the arise

Quickly passes Saturday

My proverbial Caturday

One more night to sleep

In a slumber so deep

Dreaming, of Sunday

The one day

Always, on my mind

Oh universe, please be so kind

And let it always be, Sunday!

Good vs. Evil, the eternal fight?

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good

“I believe you can make forces of good and evil work for you, to get what you want” GG Allin

Good vs. Evil, the eternal fight?

They say it is good for you
Healthy type of food
You must eat it
Possibly, even enjoy it
But who can really resist
The tempting siren song
Of the sugary spawn
Of a glazed donught
They said not to touch
But I really wanted it so much
Sneaking it out
In a hankerchief no less
I must confess
I ate the whole thing
With one big bite
Just out of spite
I really, really enjoyed it

evil

A Bench to Sit on, on a Sunday afternoon

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“I don’t generally like running. I believe in training by rising gently up and down from the bench” Satchel Paige

A Bench to Sit on, on a Sunday afternoon

The moving, must be forward
In this weather so totally hot
But I need a place to rest for a moment
Before I can continue, this utter torment
So, after searching, for a long, long moment
I found one seat, made out of wood
Maybe, it would not be too hard
Rather, just suitably good
Or then, it might just  be too soft, for a fit!
But no matter the surface
I so totally need to rest!